


A Motherless Child

by Cantatrice18



Category: Willow (1988)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Missing Scene, Surrogacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:33:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow is called into Sorsha's tent at midnight, only to find baby Elora crying and the young warrior woman at a complete loss as to what to do. He takes the time to educate her about children and, as carefully as he can, starts to change her outlook on the world. </p><p>This story is inspired by an actual scene that was written into earlier drafts of the movie's script.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Motherless Child

It was nearing midnight when the lieutenant came for Willow, yanking him from the cage where he sat huddled for warmth with Madmartigan and Raziel. His protests fell on deaf ears, as did his breathless queries as to where he was being taken. It was only when he heard the unmistakable sound of a crying baby that he knew where they were headed. The lieutenant shoved him roughly through the door flap of a large tent and left him there, kneeling on the dusty floor. Willow slowly got to his feet and looked around. The tent was comfortably lit, with lamps by the door as well as by the bedside of a large pallet covered in animal skins and woven blankets. The one who slept there would certainly never fear the cold. He turned to see a cradle, made of roughly hewn wood. Beside it stood a thin yet muscular daikini woman with tangled red hair flowing freely down her back. Sorsha still wore riding boots, but her armor had been set aside for the moment. A white linen blouse with small buttons down the front was tucked into dark brown breeches of the kind that men wore. Around her neck hung a pewter pendant in the shape of a seven-spoked wheel. Though he knew little about clothes or jewelry, Willow could tell that everything she wore was of very high quality. She turned towards him as he stood, sharp green eyes catching his own. “You, peck. Come here.”

Willow obeyed, any rancor over the insulting term “peck” dissolving at the thought of baby Elora being hurt or ill. He reached the cradle and stood on tiptoe to see into it as much as he could. At the bottom, half swaddled in a blanket, lay Elora, her little face red from crying. Willow hesitated, before reaching awkwardly into the cradle and drawing the baby out. Sorsha made no protest, which he took as a good sign, and he bounced the baby up and down gently as he held her. Though her cries lessened slightly, they did not stop. “She’s hungry.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do about that?” snapped Sorsha. “I tried feeding her earlier, she wouldn’t eat anything. I don’t know what to do with babies.”

The way she said the word “babies” sounded as though she held them on par with weevils and rodents in her esteem. Willow walked over to a table where a polished pewter jug of milk and some cloths had obviously been set out for Elora. The jug was only half full, with splashes all around from previous feeding attempts. Willow awkwardly reached out to touch the jug and sighed. “This is ice cold. You have to heat it, not so much that it burns her, but enough that she thinks it comes from a mother. Here, hold her.” Passing the baby to Sorsha, he walked to the hearth and began to heat some mild in a small pan. Looking back over his shoulder, he nearly laughed. Sorsha was holding Elora at arms length, as though expecting the infant to bite at any moment. Willow returned to them and set the pan down on the table. “This ought to be right. You should test the milk on the inside of your wrist: if it burns you, it will burn her. Go on.”

Glaring at him suspiciously, Sorsha did as he commanded, dropping a tiny dab of milk onto her wrist. “Feel alright?” he asked, and she nodded. “Good. Now take one of these cloths and dip it in the milk. Just the corner, mind, and let it soak in.”

“You do it,” said Sorsha brusquely, but Willow shook his head. “I’m not a daikini. She’ll take it better from a woman of her own kind than from me.” This was a lie, he knew, for he had fed Elora several times along their trip before their capture, but he had an idea and he wanted to see where it would go. Sorsha seemed ready to argue with him, but at the last moment decided against it. Taking the cloth from Willow, she brought it gingerly to the baby’s mouth and held it there. Obediently, Elora began to suck the milk from the cloth. She went through three repetitions of the process before finally settling in Sorsha’s arms with a slight burp. Willow had watched the whole process in silent thought, and now followed Sorsha as she returned to the cradle. As the woman leaned over the cradle to return Elora to her bed the baby began to fuss. “Now what?” Sorsha hissed as she scowled at Willow. “She’s been fed, She was changed before you came in – what else could she possibly want?”

Willow looked from the baby to the young woman who held the child so awkwardly, an odd plan forming in his mind. If he could not steal the baby, perhaps he could create an ally for her instead. “She needs to be nursed,” he said softly.

“We just did that!” cried Sorsha as Elora began to fuss louder.

Willow shook his head. “Not fed, nursed. She needs comforting. All of this running around, being passed from hand to hand, it’s left her very upset. In order to calm her, you have to nurse her.”

“But I—I’m not, I mean, I can’t…” Sorsha was nearly speechless with embarrassment as she realized his meaning, her face growing red as she looked at the baby in her arms. “What good would I be, in that way?”

“You’re a woman,” Willow murmured quietly, keeping his voice the same level he would when approaching a frightened animal. “You’re the only woman of her own kind who has ever fed her. She trusts you now.”

Indeed, Elora was looking plaintively up at Sorsha, little hands reaching vainly towards the woman. Sorsha stood frozen with indecision, and jumped as Willow rested a hand on her arm. “It’s alright if you are afraid. I can understand that.”

At the mention of fear Sorsha’s eyes blazed. “I am not afraid of a baby, peck!” she spat, though as she glanced back at the infant her brow furrowed slightly. “Avert your eyes.”

“What?” Willow asked, confused.

“Avert your eyes!” Sorsha commanded again. “If I—if this is to happen, I don’t need an audience.”

Willow nodded and turned to face the other way. Behind him he heard Sorsha retreat to the bedside and sit on the edge of the pallet. He stole a surreptitious glance over his shoulder and saw that Sorsha now sat with the baby in her lap. Her hands were shaking slightly as she undid each button of her blouse. Steeling herself, she drew Elora towards her until the child rested against her breasts. There was a moment’s silence, followed by a sharp gasp. Ignoring Sorsha’s order, Willow turned around to see the young woman cradling the infant in her arms, her head bowed and her hair falling to shield her face as she bent over the child. Willow walked slowly towards the pair, stopping several feet away. Close up, he could see that Elora had fastened on to Sorsha’s left breast, over the woman’s heart, and now suckled contentedly. The look on Sorsha’s face was one of bewilderment and wonder. Willow was startled to realize that Sorsha was, in fact, quite young. Her height, combined with the ferocity of her nature, gave the impression of someone much older, but as he examined her unlined face and the innocence that lay behind her eyes, he recognized that she was barely out of childhood herself, probably only nineteen or twenty at the most. War had hardened her, but not irrevocably. He stood at attention for half an hour, until finally the baby released Sorsha and drifted off to sleep. The young woman stood carefully and made her way back to the cradle. With hands more tender than they’d ever been before, she laid the dozing child to rest among the blankets. There was a moment’s silence before she turned her head to look at Willow. “Tell no one of this, peck.”

Willow shook his head, muttering a promise to stay silent as Sorsha did up her blouse once more. With quick strides she went to the tent flap, thrusting it aside. “Guard!” she called, softly enough not to wake the baby. “Take the prisoner back to his fellows, at once.”

As the soldier hustled Willow away, he had just enough time to glance back at the tent. The silhouette of Sorsha was visible standing over the cradle, her head bowed. Despite his exhaustion, Willow felt himself beaming. He told Raziel and Madmartigan nothing of what had occurred, but he fell asleep that night with the knowledge that he’d started something, something very important that couldn’t be stopped. Their side had a new ally, whether she knew it yet or not.


End file.
